Chapter 1

It all started with the depression of 2008, and, by 2011, there was 35.7% unemployment in the USA. Things seemed to snowball, and no one was surprised at the bomb that was set off under the stage at the 2013 presidential inauguration. It virtually wiped out the federal government: the president, the vice-president, the supreme court, and every one of the leading members of the Senate and House of Representatives. It was later estimated that the bomb consisted of on the order of 2,000 pounds of C-4. Ten years later, the hole was still there, surrounded by a metal fence bearing a plaque commemorating the event.

Of course, nowadays, not many people stopped to read the inscription on the plaque. Why? Not many people even passed by the plaque each day. Washington, DC, was a ghost town. What little federal government there was, was concentrated in New York City where the bosses could keep a close watch over it.

About the only government work being done in Washington, DC, was at the Pentagon where the military was concentrating on keeping the borders secure against the Mexicans and the Canadians, though why either one would want to enter the USA is a mystery. The Navy, also working out of the Pentagon, was responsible for the three coasts. There was no Air Force any more, they were declared superfluous and disbanded five years earlier.

The country was now run by the mob bosses and the union bosses. It was hard to say which one had the most power, but the question was kind of academic, since the mob concentrated on controlling territory, and the unions concentrated on controlling the failing economy.

The mob bosses had set themselves up as a feudal society, with the boss of bosses taking the place of the king. The lesser bosses swore fealty to him, and the even lesser bosses did the same to their bosses. Mob territories were as large as a boss could control, and the size of a territory constantly fluctuated as the boss's strength waxed and waned. The soldiers of the lowest level boss operated pretty much as did the knights in the middle ages: bullying and stealing from the civilians as the mood struck. If a civilian resisted, he was usually shot or knifed on the spot, if he was not beaten to death. Of course, women who resisted were raped first, but that was a given.

The unions operated in much the same way, except that they controlled employment to the point that absolutely no one could work if he did not belong to a union. And "belong" was the right word. The union dictated the job the person did and the number of hours he worked. No matter what the job, from surgeon to janitor, he was paid by the hour, and the number of hours he worked was determined by the union bosses. Each union had its enforcers who did pretty much as they pleased, as long as they ensured that the amount of work decreed by the union bosses was accomplished.

I guess that's where I come in. I was just another union worker as a machinist in a gun manufacturing plant. We made a knock-off of the AK-74. Actually, our guns were of remarkably high quality and were in demand around the world. The price was low, so almost any government could afford to use them. We ran a very high level of employment and were one of the few recession-proof industries.

If all that was true, then how did I get laid off? I was a damned fool, that's how! I objected when a union enforcer tried to rape a coworker at the machine next to mine. He was smart enough to wait until her break time so that production wouldn't suffer, but he just pushed her to the floor and started ripping off her clothes. She screamed for help, and I tried to come to her rescue. That was my mistake. I was beaten by four thugs to the point that I could not return to my machine, so I was laid off on the spot. The woman was still raped by at least six goons, but she was able to return to work when her break time was over, so she kept her job. The thugs were admonished by the shift foreman for disturbing the peace, but that was the end of it as far as they were concerned.

The foreman was somewhat considerate of me—he waited until I regained consciousness before I was thrown out onto the sidewalk beyond the boundary fence, so I was not robbed before I could defend myself. As soon as I got home, my live-in girlfriend tossed me out on my ear. I guess that was OK, since it was her apartment, and she was already looking for another meal ticket. One of her friends at the plant had telephoned her about the incident, so she knew that I was unemployed before I even did.

I did manage to collect my clothes before she locked me out, but now I had to find a place to stay while I recovered from my beating. I was lucky that the thugs were in a good mood and did not break any of my bones, but they sure did make me sore all over, particularly in the crotch area.

I was lucky that there was a homeless shelter only a couple of blocks away, and I managed to stagger there for help. Fortunately for me, all I really needed was a place to rest and recuperate from my bruises. The shelter was jammed full with a waiting list, so it was with the greatest bit of luck that I knew the manager of the shelter. We had been buddies when in the first and second grades. He let me rest on the floor in his office when he wasn't using it during the day, and he let me sleep there at night. I was able to eat at the shelter's soup kitchen, so I got by for the six weeks it took for me to completely heal.

Of course, being well didn't do me a hell of a lot of good, since I had no way to get a new job. If you weren't a member of some union, you had no chance to get a job, and I had lost my union membership when I had the "fight" with the enforcers. Having been booted out of one union, there was no way I could get into another union.

The only other possibility for a job was as a mob soldier, but it took "family" influence to get that kind of job, and I didn't have any. Besides, I really didn't want that kind of job if I could help it—I wasn't the kind of person that would do well as hired muscle. OK, so now I was one of the millions of unemployed.

Just a few days after I was well enough to move around on my own, my friend was promoted to a higher level job within his union, and he did not dare turn it down. He left town, and the guy who took his place didn't know me from Adam's off ox. That meant that I had to leave the shelter, and I knew that I was not going to find a place to live in another shelter in town. Winter was coming on and I didn't want to spend that time of ice and snow living in a corrugated box at the blind end of some alley. Even I finally got it through my thick head that I had to move to some other town, but where?

I asked around and was advised to head south. If I had to live outside, at least I wouldn't have to do it in freezing-ass cold. OK, I could agree with that, but how was I going to get south? I had no money for a bus ticket so the only thing I could do was walk. In that case, I had better get started!

I set out from Trenton, New Jersey, one morning in late summer. I knew that I could not walk as far south as I needed to get before the cold weather set in, but I was determined to get as far as I could before I froze. I just became another bindlestiff among many as I set out on my journey. All I had to carry was a few extra clothes; I didn't even have a bedroll. I was not properly equipped for the trip, but I had no choice.

I made 12 miles that first day, which I thought was pretty good, since I was completely out of condition from having spent so much time flat on my back recovering from the beating. I was out in the middle of nowhere when I spied another bindlestiff shuffling along in the same direction as me. He was an old guy, and he looked like he could have been a stock trader before 2008. He looked to be over 40 and probably was not long for this world. His pace was slow enough that I had no trouble catching up to him, and he greeted me in a friendly manner which I couldn't help reciprocating.